


a likely story

by wearing_tearing



Series: reality warping [15]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bookstore Owner Bucky Barnes, Bookstores, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Comfort No Hurt, M/M, Motorcycle Accidents, Pre-War Bucky Barnes, Rain, Steve Rogers's Motorcycle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-24 04:45:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19716475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearing_tearing/pseuds/wearing_tearing
Summary: Bucky blinks once, twice, three times. Then he pinches himself. “Ouch.”Steve snorts. “You’re not dreaming.”Bucky narrows his eyes at him. “You’re right. You wouldn’t be this much of an asshole if I was dreaming.”





	a likely story

**Author's Note:**

> i'd like to thank myself for writing this in two days before work caught on fire and also for finishing this series in the year of 2019 like i promised myself i would. 
> 
> have this reward for my good life choices and happy reading \o/

Bucky locks the door to the bookshop with a satisfying click, the tension slowly bleeding from his shoulders at the end of another busy day. _A Likely Story_ belonged to Bucky’s grandma first, a no nonsense woman with a deep love for books who taught Bucky to read during afternoons of babysitting, before it was passed on to Bucky five years ago after Nana’s death.

Bucky loves the shop and its upstairs apartment more than he loves a lot of things. The tall shelves and new book smell and cozy atmosphere of the bookshop keep him company during the day, while the big windows and brick walls and open floor plan of the apartment fill the rest of his hours. Those two places have been his safe haven since coming back to New York after a disastrous internship in Russia and Bucky is grateful for them and his Nana everyday.

Now, thunder roars outside and lightning illuminates the dark empty street. It’s been raining steadily since mid-afternoon, but it seems to have gotten worse in the last couple of hours. Water hits the window display in the front of the shop, blurring the street outside, and wind joins the rain with enough strength to make the door shake.

“I hope the power doesn’t go out,” Bucky says to himself as he starts to go through the motions of closing the store.

“ _Meow_ ,” Alpine pipes up from where he’s curled up on one of the old armchairs that are strategically placed around the shop.

Bucky smiles at his cat. He found Alpine a few blocks away from the shop, taking shelter under a turned over pizza box during a rainy day much like this one a year ago. It was love at first meow and Bucky’s been taking care of Alpine since.

Alpine meows again, this time in protest, when Bucky picks him up to take him upstairs. He twists in Bucky’s grip and sinks his nails into Bucky’s sweater, making Bucky hiss, and doesn’t stop climbing until he finds a comfortable place sitting on Bucky’s shoulder.

“Beast,” Bucky grumbles, but gives Alpine a scratch underneath his chin anyway.

Bucky hums under his breath as he steps into his place, takes off his shoes, and makes for the kitchen after checking it hasn’t rained inside his apartment. He still has some leftover lasagna from Sunday dinner at Becca’s and he intends to eat it all by himself while watching the season one finale of _Gentleman Jack_.

Alpine flicks his tail over Bucky’s face once before jumping to the ground and padding over to his water bowl. Bucky keeps bowls for him behind the counter down at the shop, since Alpine loves jumping on the shelves and getting pats from customers, but, as Bucky knows, there’s nothing quite like home.

Bucky groans when he flops down on his couch and sinks into the cushions. He’s been on his feet for most of the day and it’s a relief to finally be able to relax while watching one of his favorite shows. Alpine even joins him after a few minutes, curling up on the quilt Bucky keeps draped over the arm of the couch and closing his eyes.

It’s about halfway into the episode when Bucky hears it, through the sound of heavy rain, a screech of tires and the tell tale crash of metal scraping on the ground. Alpine jumps at the noise, back curved and fur puffed up and tail sticking on end, and lets out a loud hiss before jumping on the couch and running to Bucky’s bedroom.

Bucky hits pause on his show and puts down his lasagna, running to his window. The rain is coming down too thick for him to be able to properly see outside. He can make out two shapes stretched on the road near the sidewalk, though, and his heart rises to his throat as panic starts bubbling inside him.

“Shit, shit, _shit_ ,” Bucky curses as he grabs his phone, keys, and slips his shoes back on. He almost trips on his way down the stairs to the shop, praying to fuck whoever crashed isn’t too badly hurt. He has his phone in hand, about to call 911 for help, when he sees a shadow hovering outside the door.

The knock that follows shouldn’t make Bucky flinch, but it does. He slides the key into the lock with shaking hands, and his breath catches in his throat at the sight of the man that stands before him when he pulls the door open.

It’s too dark outside for Bucky to see much of him, but he can tell the dude is tall, with a few inches on Bucky, and has broad shoulders that make Bucky’s mouth dry. His hair is dark from the rain water and plastered to his forehead, sticking close to a shallow cut that runs from his temple down to his scraped cheek. There’s a trail of what seems like blood running down his neck and disappearing under his black leather jacket.

“Uh, hello,” the man says with a grimace, holding on to his side. “I just had a minor accident with my motorcycle. Would it be alright if I used your phone?”

“Would it be—” Bucky glances from the dude to the wreck on the street that sort of resembles a motorcycle. “Shit, fuck, oh my god, are you okay?” he rushes to ask the man, taking a step forward and raising his hands as if to catch him. Not that the dude is falling. He seems to be pretty okay for someone who just _crashed their motorcycle_. “Here, let me call an ambulance.”

Bucky unlocks his phone, but is stopped by a hand on his wrist. Bucky blinks at the busted knuckles that curl themselves around him and then looks up.

“Sorry,” the man says, “but that’s really not necessary. I just need to call someone to come pick me up.”

“Not— not _necessary_?” Bucky splutters. “You’re hurt! You were in an accident!”

“I’m fine,” the man tries to reassure him, but at the same time he takes a step forward as if to prove his point, he sways in place and almost faceplants on Bucky’s floor. Instead, he hisses through gritted teeth and braces a hand on the door frame, trying to keep his balance.

“Fuck, you’re not fine.” Bucky pocket shis phone against his better judgement and wraps an arm around the man’s waist, careful not to press on too much on what appears to be his injured side. 

“I’m gonna get you all wet,” the dude gasps, but lets Bucky drag him into the shop and push him down on the armchair Alpine was just resting on an hour before. The chair’s seen cat puke and other suspicious substances. A little bit of rain water won’t ruin it.

“Better me wet than you dead, pal,” Bucky snaps back after he kicks the door closed. “Now listen here, you idio—”

Bucky stops in his tracks. Under the yellow glow of the bookshop lights, with no shadows to hide in, the man’s face is bared to him. And it’s a face that Bucky knows well, from history books to TV news to his niece’s favorite Avengers doll.

Steve Rogers, sprawled on the armchair and still holding on to his side, offers Bucky a sheepish smile at the obvious recognition plastered all over Bucky’s face.

“I told you I’m fine,” Steve says through a pained sigh.

“Because you’re a supersoldier,” Bucky says, trying to guess if he somehow fell asleep in front of the TV and this is all a crazy cream, “who has supersoldier healing powers.”

“That’s me.”

Bucky blinks once, twice, three times. Then he pinches himself. “Ouch.”

Steve snorts. “You’re not dreaming.”

Bucky narrows his eyes at him. “You’re right. You wouldn’t be this much of an asshole if I was dreaming.”

Steve’s sheepish smile turns into a pleased grin. “That’s also me. An asshole.”

“Are you sure you don’t need me to call an ambulance?”

“No.” Steve shakes his head. “I’ll be healed up by the time they get here. Not worth the trouble.”

“Right.” Bucky swallows past a lump in his throat, eyes cataloguing the cut on Steve’s temple, the scrape on his cheek, and whatever’s going on with his ribs. “Right. Stay here and don’t move.”

“What?”

Bucky doesn’t bother answering. Instead, he runs to the staff room in the back and grabs a towel, an ice pack, the first aid kit he keeps at the shop. He hands the towel to Steve, who takes it with a thanks, and then kneels between Steve’s spread legs.

“What?” Steve says again, this time with an added tone of complete and utter surprise, stopping halfway through drying his hair.

Bucky frowns. “Did you hit your head when you fell? Do you feel dizzy or like you’re going to throw up?”

“I don’t have a concussion,” Steve dismisses him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Patching you up. I’m not about to let you bleed all over yourself.”

Steve’s lips twitch up, though he still has a look in his eyes like he can’t really believe Bucky’s doing this. “Not that first time it’s happened.”

“Yeah, well.” Bucky slides his phone from his pocket and waves it at Steve. “Call whoever you need to call. I can get you some dry clothes after we’re done. Also, press this to your side.” Bucky hands Steve the ice pack.

“That’s not necessa—”

“Don’t try me,” Bucky interrupts him, pushing the ice pack towards Steve until he takes it. “I have DermaPlast and I’m not afraid to use it.”

Steve snorts before dropping the towel and then reaching for the phone with now free hand. Their fingers brush when Steve takes it from Bucky and Bucky does his best to fight off a shiver.

Bucky starts off with gently cleaning the blood off Steve’s cheek. He murmurs an apology when Steve winces a little and does his best to finish it as quickly as possible. Whoever Steve’s calling picks up when Bucky’s tending to the scrape on his cheek.

“Hey, Nat, I need an extraction,” Steve says, and then scowls at Bucky when Bucky snorts.

“What?” Bucky shrugs. “You sound like you’re somewhere dangerous.”

“You have DermaPlast and you’re not afraid to use it,” Steve reminds him. “I’m in fear for my life.”

Bucky shakes his head and smiles, and then has to bite on the inside of his cheek not to laugh when Steve wrinkles his nose at whatever it is said to him on the phone.

“I’m at a bookshop,” Steve explains. “I may or may not have crashed the bike because it was raining too hard and I couldn’t see properly.” Steve sighs and rolls his eyes. “As Clint likes to remind me, I’m not the Avenger they call Hawkeye. I promise I’m fine. The bookshop owner is patching me up.”

“Barnes,” Bucky pipes up. “James Barnes, but most people call me Bucky.”

“Bucky,” Steve says, lips forming a smile. “No, Nat, that’s the bookshop owner’s name. The bookshop’s called…”

“ _A Likely Story_ ,” Bucky supplies and then goes back to taking care of Steve’s face.

Steve rattles off the name of the shop to Nat, along with the address and a request for a ride and a tow to drag of the remains of his bike. “How long do you think—?” Steve purses his lips. “Yeah, I know it’s raining pretty bad, but— I’m— Nat, I don’t think—”

“You can stay until someone can come pick you up,” Bucky offers, ignoring the way his stomach flips at the thought of Steve in his apartment.

“I don’t want to impo—”

“You’re not,” Bucky tells him. “I’ll feel better if I can keep an eye on you before your friend can get here, anyway. To make sure you’re _really_ fine.”

“I am,” Steve says, emphasizing his point with a light bump of his knee against Bucky’s arm. “Alright, Nat, you can call me back on this number?” At Bucky’s nod, Steve continues, “Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you when I see you.”

“Now drop the pack and lift up your shirt,” Bucky tells Steve after hangs up and hands him back his phone.

“ _What_?” Steve asks, voice high pitched.

Bucky feels blood rush to his cheeks, but he holds Steve’s gaze. “Lift up your shirt. You were holding your side earlier. I know I gave you an ice pack, but I want to check nothing’s broken.”

“It isn’t,” Steve says, but at Bucky’s glare he gulps and gives a sharp nod. He grips his wet shirt and pulls it up, revealing a mass of purple-ish bruises on the right side of his chest.

Bucky slowly lifts his hand up, giving Steve time to stop him, and lightly presses down on the bruise. Steve’s muscles tense as he lets out a harsh breath through his nose, but he stays still under Bucky’s touch.

“Just a huge bruise, huh?” Bucky murmurs, skimming his fingers over Steve’s skin before pulling back all together. “You’ll live.”

“I told you so,” Steve snipes and lowers his shirt, but his tone is softer than Bucky expected, specially when says, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Bucky pats him twice on the knee before he realizes what he’s doing. He snatches his hand back, face hot, and stands come. “C’mon. I have some sweats upstairs that might fit you.”

“You really don’t have to—”

“Steve,” Bucky cuts him off with a stern look, “stop trying to tell me what to do.”

Steve looks surprised for a second before he lets out a low laugh and raises his hands. “Yes, sir.”

Bucky shakes his head and ignores the butterflies in his stomach. He gestures for Steve to follow him upstairs, remembering only last minute that he left Alpine alone in the apartment with his plate of lasagna in easy reach of his greedy cat paws.

“Oh shit, _Alpine_!” Bucky curses as he runs up the final steps to the door of his place, which he left open in his hurry to assist whoever it was that crashed in front of his shop. 

“Bucky!” Steve yells after him, coming hot on his heels despite the bruised ribs and cuts, and bumps right into Bucky’s back when Bucky pushes open the door to the apartment and stops in his living room.

“Oh, thank fuck,” Bucky sighs in relief when he sees his untouched plate still on the coffee table. He wouldn’t want to add an emergency trip to the vet on top of patching up Captain America to his to do list for the night. Not with this kind of weather. “Alpine?”

“Who’s Alpine?” Steve asks in a low and rumbly voice, breath ghosting over the shell of Bucky’s ear because they’re standing so close. “Your girlfriend?”

Before Bucky can answer, a distinct and very displeased meow comes from the direction of his bedroom. 

“Oh, poor baby,” Bucky coos, forgetting all about Steve as he goes to his room. “Did you get stuck under the bed again?”

Alpine howls back at him, mournful and a little impatient, as if Bucky was supposed to have rescued him from the mean bed five minutes ago.

“C’mere, you dummy.” Bucky gently coaxes his cat from under his bed, wincing a little when Alpine’s claws catch on the sleeve of his sweater. He cradles Alpine to his chest once Alpine is free of the bed and drops kisses to the top of his head while murmuring, “You know you always get stuck down there. Why don’t you hide in the hamper, huh?”

Alpine purrs and brushes his head under Bucky’s chin, happy to be free again.

“You’re a smart cat, I know you are,” Bucky coos. “So why do you do dumb things all the time?”

“Uh.”

Bucky startles, clutching Alpine a little too tight to his chest. Alpine doesn’t like the loving squeeze Bucky gives him, so he meows and squirms and maybe hits Bucky in the face with his paw once until Bucky lets go of him and he can jump to the floor.

Bucky stares up at Steve, wide-eyed and a little embarrassed, but finds Steve looking back at him like he’s trying very hard not to laugh.

“So Alpine is not your girlfriend,” Steve says, and it takes Bucky a second to remember what Steve had asked.

Bucky scrunches his nose up. “No, _he_ is not,” he says, and then adds, “I don’t have a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend.”

“Oh.” Steve bites down on his bottom lip. Bucky refuses to let his eyes flicker down to it. “I’m not dating anyone either.”

Bucky remembers Steve coming out as bisexual a few years ago, so his use of ‘anyone’ doesn’t surprise him.

“Okay,” Bucky says.

“Okay,” Steve repeats.

They stand there, in Bucky’s room, staring at each other in silence. The awkwardness is so high Bucky is kind of surprised neither of them have exploded yet.

“O- _kay_.” Bucky claps his hands together, and then wishes he could clap them over his mouth instead because _oh my god_. “Let me get you some clothes. It can’t be fun to stand there in wet jeans.”

“It isn’t,” Steve agrees, grimacing down at himself. “In my defense, it wasn’t raining when I left with the bike this morning.”

“And you didn’t call a Lyft to take you wherever you wanted to go _why_?”

Steve shrugs. “Thought I could tough it out.”

Bucky turns to him, sweats and an old t-shirt in hand, and can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. “Is this your life motto? _Tough it out_?”

“Worked well for me so far.”

Bucky points a finger at him. “You are a disaster.”

Steve points a finger back at him. “And you haven’t met Clint Barton.”

“I bet Hawkeye wouldn’t drive on a motorcycle when it’s storming out.”

Steve opens his mouth to argue, but then snaps it shut again. “He might,” he grumbles, brows coming together in a scowl.

Bucky pretends he doesn’t look adorable. “Bathroom’s through the left,” he tells Steve as he hands him the dry clothes and takes the ice pack from Steve. “There are towels under the sink if you want to take a quick shower to warm up. If you leave your wet clothes in the bathroom, I could run them through the wash after you’re done changing.”

“You don’t have to—” Steve starts to say, and then catches himself when Bucky glares at him. “Right. I shouldn’t be telling you what to do.”

“Damn right.” Bucky gives him a sharp nod. “I’ll leave you to it. Just yell if you need anything.”

Bucky leaves Steve to his own devices and goes back to the living room. At the sound of the shower turning on, Bucky lets himself take a deep breath and—

“What the _fuck_ ,” Bucky whispers to Alpine, his hands coming up to clutch at his short hair. “What the fucking _fuck_?”

Alpine stares back at him, silent, from his place perched on the back of the couch.

“This isn't how I thought our night would go,” Bucky tells him. “I mean, I thought I’d just stuff my face with lasagna and we’d watch Anne Lister be gay and happy and maybe I’d read a bit of _Sorcery of Thorns_ before bed with you curled up on my pillow. But now, _this_.”

Alpine sticks his tongue out to lick his paw, ignoring Bucky’s freak out.

“I guess I could still eat lasagna? I could share it with Steve,” Bucky mumbles to himself, already walking to the kitchen. “No _Gentleman Jack_ , though. Unless we go back to the first episode. And I could still read before bed after Steve leaves.”

Bucky goes about heating up what’s left of Becca’s lasagna, along with his cold plate, glad to have a plan in place. The shower turns off just as Bucky’s serving Steve a healthy plate of food, so he finishes that off and grabs Steve a drink of… water, because Bucky hasn’t gone grocery shopping in a while.

Steve shuffles to the living room as Bucky’s getting out of the kitchen, and they both stop in their tracks to stare at each other. Bucky’s throat tightens at the sight of Steve in a pair of his flannel sweats and an old grey t-shirt that’s seen better days. The worn fabric stretches across his shoulders and chest and Bucky doesn’t even have to squint to be able to see Steve’s nipples through it.

“Did the shower go okay?” Bucky asks and immediately wants to take those words back.

“Uh, yes? You have a really nice body wash. It smells good.”

“It’s green tea and ginger,” Bucky answers weakly, and then clears his throat. “I heat up dinner.”

“Buck,” Steve murmurs, shoulders slumping a little as his mouth curves up in a small and soft smile.

“It’s leftover lasagna,” Bucky continues. “My sister made it.”

“I’m sure it’s wonderful.”

“It is.” A second passes without them moving or saying anything. Bucky twitches. “Uh, want to sit down and eat while I take care of your wet clothes?”

“Sure.”

When Bucky comes back from putting Steve’s clothes in the washing machine (aside from the jacket, which he just hangs and lightly pats with a towel), he finds Steve has made himself comfortable on the couch, careful not to disturb Alpine. Bucky joins him and grabs his own plate, smiling at seeing Steve’s already eaten a good part of his share of lasagna, and then turns on the TV again.They’re sitting close together on the couch, not quite touching, but Bucky can feel the warmth of Steve’s thigh next to his own.

“Oh, is that _Gentleman Jack_?” Steve asks with a grin. “I love that show.”

“You watch it?” Bucky grins back, just as wide. “It’s the season finale.”

“Fuck yeah. How far are you in the episode?”

“About halfway. I can restart it, though? So we can watch it together.”

Steve turns to him, grin softening into something else. The scrape on his cheek is almost gone and the cut on his temple is nothing but a pink line. “I’d love to.”

“Cool. Me too.”

They smile at each other until Alpine’s meow breaks through the silence. Bucky laughs, cheeks heating up, and then turns to his TV. They spend the next hour eating and watching the show, stopping for a few minutes here and there to talk or to pet Alpine who ends up climbing off the back of the couch to sit down right beside Steve. Bucky tries not to think of how surreal this is, to have Steve in his living room while it storms outside, telling Bucky a story about getting into a food competition with Thor and eating so much pizza he smelled like pepperoni for the next two days.

“No wonder you liked the way my body wash smelled,” Bucky says through a chuckle as the credits roll on the TV.

“You have good taste in bath products,” Steve replies. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone have so many hair products in their bathroom before.”

“Excuse you.” Bucky sniffs and then runs a hand through his hair. “It takes work to get my hair to look this fluffy and soft.”

Steve smiles, eyes crinkling at the corner. “I bet. It’s worth it, though. You look good.”

Bucky flushes, caught by Steve’s smile and compliment. “Thank you. So do you.”

“You mean with my busted face?” Steve asks, pointing to his fading cut.

“You’re almost all healed,” Bucky says. Despite himself, he reaches out a hand and grabs Steve’s chin in a gentle hold, lightly turning Steve’s head to the side so he can get a good look of his injuries. “I bet it’ll all be gone in a few minutes.”

“I should thank you again,” Steve starts and leans a little into Bucky’s touch, “for taking care of me and everything else.”

“It’s no problem,” Bucky answers. His thumb traces the edge of Steve’s jaw, catching the scrape of barely there stubble. “Really.”

Steve’s breath catches in his throat, a soft little sound that makes Bucky licks his lips, and then they’re both leaning in to—

“ _Meow_ ,” Alpine pipes up and jumps off the couch, right before Bucky’s phone starts vibrating on top of the coffee table.

Bucky and Steve jump back as if burned, their faces red, and Bucky has to take a deep breath to calm down his fast beating heart.

“Uh.” Bucky stares at his phone and the flash of _Undisclosed Number_ on the screen. “That must be for you?”

“Right,” Steve says, but it still takes him a second to pull himself together before he grabs the phone and answers the call. “Nat? Yeah, I’m good. Twenty minutes? Alright. Yes, same address. Just text me and I can head down. Thank you, bye.”

“I don’t think your clothes will be dry on time,” Bucky says after Steve ends the call, a lot disappointed that Steve will be leaving soon. Specially after that almost… that almost _kiss_.

“Oh. I could call Nat to bring me a change of clothes?”

“That’s not what I meant.” Bucky huffs. “You can wear mine, but this means you’ll have to come back to the shop.”

Not that Bucky would be sad to see his sweats and shirt go, considering Steve would be the one keeping them, but he’s not about to steal Steve’s own clothes. The jacket he was wearing seemed expensive.

“Oh.” Steve smirks. “I can arrange that.”

“Good,” Bucky squeaks. “Uh, I mean. Yeah.”

“Yeah.” Steve leans in a little and rests a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Really, Bucky, thank you for everything tonight. You didn’t have to go through so much trouble.”

Bucky waves a hand at him. “I went through just as much trouble as I meant to. You’d do the same if I crashed my bike in front of your place of business. Not that I have a bike to crash.”

“I would,” Steve murmurs. “Still, thank you.”

“Well… you’re welcome. And don’t do it again.”

Steve laughs and squeezes Bucky’s shoulder again. “Yes, sir.”

The next fifteen minutes are spent fighting about who gets to do the dishes and then Steve actually doing said dishes while Bucky checks on Steve’s clothes. The jacket is dry, though Bucky knows the need to be careful with leather once it gets wet, but everything else is still a bit damp or downright soaking.

“What’s the verdict?” Steve asks once Bucky’s back to the kitchen.

“You can take the jacket with you, but you’ll have to come back another day for the rest of it.”

“Tomorrow?” Steve offers as he dries his hands on Bucky’s dishcloth.

“Tomorrow works,” Bucky answers, trying to ignore the way his heart flips at knowing he’ll be seeing Steve again so soon. “The shop opens from 8 to 8.”

“When’s your lunch break?”

Bucky opens and closes his mouth a few times as his brain tries to wrap itself around Steve’s question and what it _means_. “Uh, noon to 1:30.”

“Okay if I show up around noon, then?”

“Yes,” Bucky answers automatically, still trying to figure out what the heck is going on.

Steve beams at him. “Good.”

Bucky’s phone pings with a text message a minute later, letting them know Nat is downstairs. Steve gives Alpine a final pet before they head down, trying to thank Bucky another two times for dinner and the clothes until Bucky pokes him on the side and threatens to tickle him until he stops.

They’re both still laughing when they open the door to Nat, who now Bucky sees is actually Natasha Romanoff aka the _Black Widow_ herself and who is standing by the door to his shop under a red umbrella.

“I see you’re not dead or dying,” Natasha says in a dry tone, though Bucky can see a faint smile on her lips.

“I told you I was fine,” Steve sighs.

“Your fine is different from my fine,” Natasha throws back at him and then turns to Bucky. “Thank you for making sure he was okay.”

“Uh, it was my pleasure,” Bucky says, trying not to squirm under Natasha’s gaze.

She smiles. “I bet it was.”

“ _Nat_ ,” Steve hisses, his cheeks pink.

“Alright.” Natasha tilts her head to the sleek black car parked on the front of the shop. “Come on. A tow should be here in about three minutes to get the bike.”

“I’ll meet you in a minute,” Steve assures her and then turns to Bucky before Natasha can answer.

Bucky doesn’t miss the way Natasha rolls her eyes at Steve and he _certainly_ doesn’t miss the wink she gives _him_ before walking back to the car.

“Uh, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” Bucky tells Steve, doing his best not to reach out and pull him into a hug like he wants to.

Not that he needs to fight very hard against the urge, as Steve takes a step forward and wraps his arms around Bucky’s waist, hugging him close.

“You will,” Steve says against his shoulder. “Thank you again for everything. And tell your sister her lasagna is amazing.”

Bucky’s laughter is muffled by Steve’s neck. “I will,” he says and hugs Steve back just as tight. “Drive safe.”

“We will.” Steve seems reluctant to let go, with the way his hands slide down Bucky’s sides before he pulls back all together. “See you soon.”

“See you.” Bucky waves at Steve and then watches Steve jog through the rain and climb inside the car. He closes the shop door after the car is out of sight, but stays down by the window display until he sees the tow arrive to get the bike. 

“What a weird night,” Bucky tells Alpine after he’s back at his apartment and in bed, ready to get back into his book. 

Alpine doesn’t answer. He just bumps Bucky’s temple with his head and makes himself comfortable on top of Bucky’s pillow.

**

The next day starts bright and sunny, with no indication that clouds will gather and piss rain down on them all over again. Bucky’s feeling pretty bright and sunny too as he gets dressed in a red sweater and dark blue skinny jeans that flatter his butt. Alpine watches him fluff up his hair from his place loafing on the toilet lid, occasionally opening his mouth to yawn, eyes silently tracking Bucky’s movements.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Bucky warns him. “I always dress like this when I go to work.”

They both know that’s a half a lie, but Alpine is kind enough not to call Bucky out on his shit. So what if he’s worrying about his appearance today and making sure his hair is shiny and his sweater is soft and his butt looks good in a pair of jeans? And so what if he’s doing all of that because he’s going to be seeing Steve today? So. What.

“Someone’s looking chipper this morning,” Morita says when Bucky opens the door for him and they both go about opening the shop for the morning.

“I’m allowed to be happy,” Bucky grumbles.

“Sure you are. You’re just looking happ _ier_ today. Did something happen?”

“No…” Bucky trails off, and at the slight twitch of Morita’s eyebrows, he sighs and says, “I’m meeting someone at around lunch time today.”

That’s less complicated than explaining to Morita what happened last night. It doesn’t sound at all like a likely story that Captain America crashed his bike in front of Bucky’s shop and Bucky took him in and patched him up and they had dinner together and almost… almost _kissed_. So telling him only about lunch is easier.

“Oooohhh, are they cute?” Morita pokes Bucky on the arm. “Do I know them?”

“He’s very cute,” Bucky answers with a blush. “And I’m not sure. You might have seen them around the neighborhood before.”

Or on the news.

Or in the paper.

Or all over the Internet.

“Nice.” Morita grins. “Do you need me to take my break a little later today?”

“No, but thank you for offering.”

Morita claps him on the shoulder. “Everything for your love life.”

The morning goes by slower than usual, with Bucky checking the clock every half hour or so and then groaning when he sees he still has some time before Steve shows up. Which is why, of course, when Steve _does_ arrive, five minutes before Bucky’s lunch break, Bucky doesn’t notice him. Not until he hears Morita’s surprised, and loud, whisper of, “Holy _shit_ , that’s Captain Rogers.”

Bucky whirls around on his feet so fast he almost trips on Alpine. Alpine hisses at him and runs to Steve, because of course he does. Steve smiles at Alpine and bends down to give him a pat and then turns his smile at Bucky.

“Hiya, Buck.”

“Holy _shit_ ,” Morita whispers again, glancing at Bucky with shock.

“Hey, Steve.” Bucky smiles back. “Just give me a minute.”

Bucky rounds the counter and grabs Morita by the arm, dragging him to the backroom. Morita rounds on him as soon as they’re behind the door, eyes wide and mouth open, ready to ask Bucky a million questions.

Bucky raises a hand at him. “I met Steve yesterday. He had trouble with his bike because of the rain yesterday so I let him hang around the shop until one of his friends could come pick him up.”

Morita flails at him. “And now you’re having _lunch_?”

“I don’t know if we’re having lunch. I just know we’re meeting around lunch time.”

Morita levels him with an unimpressed gaze. “Really? That’s what you’re going with?”

“Shut up. And _please_ don’t make a big deal about it. I’m sure Steve gets enough shit about being Captain America as it is. He doesn’t need that from us.”

Morita straightens and nods. “Got it. You sure you don’t need me to push back my break?”

“I’m sure.”

Steve’s back to petting Alpine when Morita and Bucky come back. He glances at Morita before gazing back at Bucky, tilting his head to the side in a silent question. Bucky smiles at him and shakes his head lightly, his own silent way of telling Steve everything is fine. 

Steve abandons Alpine for a second and walks up to Bucky, holding a plastic bag in hand. “I have something for you.”

Bucky takes the bag and peers inside. He laughs. “Thanks. I don’t know how I would have survived without my sweats.”

Steve grins and shrugs one shoulder. “You’re welcome.”

“Do you want yours now?” Bucky asks. “I have them upstairs, washed and dry.”

“Maybe later? So I don’t have to drag them around while we eat.”

“Oh, we’re eating?” Bucky raises an eyebrow.

Steve’s cheeks flush a little, a pretty healthy pink Bucky wants to put his mouth on. “I mean, we don’t have yo if you don’t want to. I can go—”

“I’d love to have lunch with you,” Bucky interrupts him. “Just let me put these away.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Morita chimes in, already grabbing the bag away from Bucky. He gives Steve a nod. “Hey, man. I’m Morita, Bucky’s best employee.”

“You wish,” Bucky mutters.

“I’m Steve. Nice to meet you.”

“You too.” Morita smiles at him and then directs Bucky, “Text me if you’re late.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I won’t be, but thanks.”

“Shall we?” Steve asks, gesturing to the door.

Bucky nods, almost tripping on his own feet again when he feels Steve’s hand on the small of his back, leading him on. The sun shines bright and warm when they step outside the shop, a huge contrast to the stormy weather of last night.

“So, where are we going?”

“Well,” Steve drawls, cheeks still a bit pink, and stops a few feet away from the front of the shop. “I thought we could go for a ride first? And then get lunch at this little sandwich place I know a few blocks from here.”

Bucky blinks at him. “But you crashed your bike.”

“I, uh, have another one?” Steve says and points to his left.

“Oh my god, of course you do,” Bucky groans, staring at the beautiful motorcycle parked by the curb. Bucky doesn’t know shit about bikes, but even he can’t deny that whatever Harley Davidson this is, it’s beautiful. “Are you a better driver when it’s not raining?”

“I’m a good driver all the time!” Steve protests, looking a little ashamed. “I understand if you don’t feel comfortable getting on a bike with me after yesterday, but… I thought it’d be fun.”

Bucky looks from Steve to the bike and back again, excitement growing and making him feel giddy. He’s always wanted to ride a motorcycle before and, despite the circumstances of their first meeting, he knows riding with Steve would be amazing. To be holding on to Steve while they ride, with his legs wrapped around Steve’s own, his arms on Steve’s waist. Bucky _wants it_.

So that’s why Bucky says, “I’d love to ride you,” and then almost expires right then and there when he realizes what he’s said. “I mean _it_!” Bucky scrambles to correct himself. “I’d love to ride _it_! The bike. The motorcycle.”

“Right,” Steve says in a weird tone of voice, like he’s trying really hard not to laugh. “You’d love to ride my… _bike_.”

“Yes,” Bucky agrees, face so hot he thinks his eyes are about to melt. “That’s what I said.”

“If that’s what you said,” Steve teases, “let me take you for the ride of your life.”

Bucky laughs, only a little nervous, and lets Steve do as he’s just said. He puts on Steve’s spare helmet and climbs on, not hesitating even for a second before wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist. He feels Steve’s muscles shift underneath his palm as Steve leans back against him for a second before he starts the bike and they’re off.

Bucky smiles through the entire ride, holding tightly onto Steve, and his happiness bubbles over in the form of free laughter whenever Steve takes a sharp turn. It’s thrilling, even as it makes Bucky’s stomach swoop and his heart beat fast and his breath catch in his throat. 

His legs are jelly when Steve finally comes to a stop at the front of a little diner Bucky supposes is where they’ll be eating. He has to hold on to Steve’s arm to be able to climb off the bike and stand, laughing a little at himself when his knees threaten to buckle.

“Woah, there,” Steve says, hands coming to rest on Bucky’s hips.

Bucky beams up at him and says, a little breathless, “That was amazing.”

“Yeah?” Steve smiles back, soft and pleased. “I’m glad you liked it.”

“I _loved it_!” Bucky throws his arms around Steve’s shoulders. “We have to do it again.”

Steve laughs against his neck. “There’s still the ride back.”

“Awesome.” Bucky keeps grinning, and only then does he realize he’s hugging Steve. He tries to step back, but Steve’s arms tighten around his waist. “Oh,” he whispers, and then melts again back into Steve’s arms.

“Is this okay?” Steve murmurs, lips brushing against Bucky’s jaw.

“Yeah,” Bucky answers, hugging Steve tighter. “This is more than okay.”

Steve presses a light kiss to Bucky’s jaw. Then another one follows, this time to Bucky’s chin. Bucky’s heart clenches inside his chest, but it’s the easiest thing in the world for him to turn his head when Steve’s lips find the corner of his mouth.

Their first kiss is chaste, just a sweet press of lips that still makes Bucky’s toes curl. Their second kiss is deeper, with Bucky flicking his tongue against Steve’s bottom lip and moaning softly when Steve licks his into his mouth. Their third and fourth kisses are lost in the slow motion of them holding onto each other and enjoying this kind of closeness, until they’re both breathless and flushed and smiling too wide to keep kissing.

“Hi,” Bucky whispers as Steve rests their foreheads together.

“Hey,” Steve murmurs back and then pecks Bucky on the lips again.

“I really don’t want to move,” Bucky starts, nuzzling his nose against Steve’s, “but we should probably head to lunch.”

“Okay.” Steve kisses him again before letting go, but not before he grabs Bucky’s hand and tangles their fingers together. “I’ll feed you then I’ll take you for one more ride.”

Bucky grins at Steve and squeezes his hand. “Can’t wait.”

**

Steve takes Bucky on several rides throughout the years. They always end with Bucky hugging Steve close and kissing him and kissing him and kissing him, until they have to go back to their own place lest they be arrested for public indecency.

And when they get home? Well, that’s when Steve takes Bucky for _another_ kind of ride. One that leaves Bucky gasping and panting and moaning Steve’s name.

No one’s asked him, but that’s the kind of ride Bucky loves most. Because it gives him Steve, sleepy and sated, curled around him in bed while Bucky reads and Alpine kneads one of their pillows.

Bucky smiles at Steve and bends down to kiss his forehead, chuckling when Steve hums and lifts his head up for a kiss on the lips.

“Love you,” Bucky tells him, never tired of saying those words.

“Love you too,” Steve mumbles against Bucky’s chest, pressing a kiss to his heart.

Bucky cuddles him close and can’t help but think Steve was right, all of those years ago. He did take Bucky on the ride of his life. And the little black box Bucky has hiding behind his hardcover copy of _The Priory of the Orange Tree_ says this ride isn’t over yet.

It has just begun.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much to everyone who's subscribed to the series and has read along as i posted and to those who just found it through this fic. this series was the start of me writing stevebucky, as i wanted to explore the characters through several au scenarios, and it means quite a lot to me. this is the final idea i wanted to write for it and, despite being a little sad it's over, i'm really proud of all of these oneshots :')
> 
> you can find me on: [twitter](https://twitter.com/wearing_tearing), [dreamdwith](https://wearing-tearing.dreamwidth.org/), and [tumblr](http://hawkguyz.tumblr.com/) ~


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